Black Nightshade
by Rhoswen Eolande
Summary: Cassandra Trelawney decides to interfere in a female Harry Potter's destiny. Newt Scamander and Tom Riddle are born anew to new families and new timelines. Draco Malfoy grows up hearing about The Girl Who Lived. Petunia Dursley raises a young girl who looks just like her dead sister. Throw it all together in a blender and you get? Total chaos. FemHarry. BEING REWRITTEN.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Cassandra shuffled along the road in Godric's Hollow, a hunched old woman clad in rags. She was purposefully trying to look mad - her clothes ragged, her silver hair flyaway.

Cassandra Trelawney had a mission.

She had retreated from the public eye and from her own family a number of years ago, fading from the world's view with such neat obscurity that no one was quite sure where she'd run off to. But Cassandra remained, as alive as she was extremely old, and she was still a Seer and still a magical experimentalist, working away at her own private magics, discovering things years before the rest of the wizarding world did.

Famous Seer Cassandra Trelawney lived.

Virtually the only people who knew where she lived now were people who were just as or even older than she was - but more than that, people she _trusted_. This made the list very short, the people involved few and far between.

But two of those people were Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, the infamous alchemist couple who had created a Philosopher's Stone.

She had seen what was coming, before her granddaughter Sybil had even uttered the prophecy, had sat down with her old friends the Flamels and sworn them to secrecy.

"A baby will be born, prophesied by my granddaughter Sybil to be able to destroy the Dark Lord Voldemort."

"I didn't know your Sybil _was_ a Seer," Perenelle had said, puzzled.

"Neither had I, the girl showed no talent, but I suppose even I can be surprised sometimes," said Cassandra dryly.

"Shouldn't we tell Dumbledore?" said Nicolas, straightening, worried.

"No. You know I don't trust Albus Dumbledore. It's why he doesn't know where I am or if I'm still alive. Albus Dumbledore doesn't even trust himself. It's why he's never accepted the position as Minister for Magic," Cassandra rasped. She was a Legilimens, on top of everything else, but she was one of the few people who had never needed Legilimency to read Albus Dumbledore. "He's far too manipulative and unpredictable." She nodded decisively.

"Pot and kettle," Nicolas observed flatly. "It's why the two of you don't get on."

"Well, precisely, and I'm not going to have him interfering with my plans. Listen to me. The girl will be marked by the Dark Lord Voldemort, on the eve of the night he murders her parents. Her power will temporarily make him disappear, and everyone will think he is dead, but he will return. As a spirit. To come after _your_ Philosopher's Stone, and therefore revive himself." She nodded to Nicolas. "And the girl, a child now, she will be there - to stop him."

"One little girl against the spirit of the Dark Lord Voldemort?" said Perenelle worriedly.

"Exactly. I think she needs some assistance. I'm bringing in reinforcements." Cassandra had smirked. "That's why I need your help.

"You don't need to do very much. Only die. You see, the girl will save the Stone in any timeline, but after that it will have to be destroyed so the Dark Lord cannot strive after it again. After you die, I'll need control of your estate. I must remain anonymous. Not even Albus Dumbledore must be able to figure out who I am.

"I plan to control certain things from the sidelines."

"Oh, so you only need me to lie to one of my greatest friends and then die," said Nicolas dryly. "Yes, Cassandra, that's not a tall order at all. I'm going to regret asking this, but just what on earth do you plan to do in the meantime?"

Cassandra cackled, barking out her harsh old laugh. "This is a rare opportunity, Nicolas," she said slyly.

"Not another of your experiments," Perenelle sighed. "Your curiosities can get people _killed_ , Cassandra."

"Yes, but this time they will do just the opposite!" Cassandra's ancient face cracked with a somewhat evil looking grin. "Look, I am the most powerful Seer existent on the planet in three centuries, and this girl is the most heavily prophesied young witch to come along in at least one hundred years. I plan on invoking something called prophecy magic - a dangerous and seldom used magic that can make the impossible quite possible, bringing together elements of the past, present, and future."

"I know what prophecy magic is," said Nicolas, frowning. "And if this doesn't kill you, Cassandra, it could leave you bedridden for days."

"A sacrifice I'm willing to make," said Cassandra simply. "Now. Look what I have." She cackled with laughter as she reached into her pocket - and brought out a Time-Turner.

"Do I even want to know where you got that?" said Nicolas flatly.

"No!" said Cassandra gleefully, her short little legs swinging in her chair. "I am going to combine the power of prophecy magic and a Time-Turner in a very unique, never before done way."

" _Why?"_

Cassandra chose to ignore Nicolas. "I am going to reach back into the past, take two past infants from an alternate universe, and place them in our timeline. They will be born here, in the same year the prophesied girl is born, instead - to brand new families, but in circumstances as similar to the original as possible. They will both be wizards, obviously," she added dismissively.

"Obviously," Nicolas repeated incredulously. Perenelle looked horrified. "Cassandra, why are you doing this?"

"Because she's a helpless little prophesied girl. You know I have a soft spot for helping witches with everything stacked against them," said Cassandra coldly, her glee fading. She looked troubled, old, distant. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Nicolas? An unborn infant girl has been pitted against the evillest and most powerful wizard of all time.

"No one can save her… But we can help her on her quest, if we choose.

"You know help comes best in forms of three. That's the old Arithmancy saying, isn't it? And call me revolutionary, but I like the idea of three young wizards helping a young heroine, a prophesied young witch. I find it refreshing." She shrugged, smiling.

"Three? You said you were only bringing two people back," Nicolas pointed out, frowning.

"The third will already be born in her year. Draco Malfoy."

"A Malfoy? Cassandra, you have heard of their family -?"

"Of course I've heard of their family!" Cassandra snapped, suddenly irritable, as she was prone to being when she had to explain things that seemed obvious to her. "Have you heard of Sirius Black?"

Nicolas fell silent.

 _Or perhaps of Severus Snape,_ Cassandra thought, that might be more to the point, but sometimes she had to remind herself certain things hadn't happened yet.

"If you're worried about that, this will throw you for a loop. Another person I'm bringing back is the infant, fully human version of the Dark Lord himself. Tom Riddle," said Cassandra coldly.

Nicolas shot to his feet. "Damnit, Cassandra -!" he said heatedly, and then he stopped. Because he felt the heavy magic around him.

Cassandra hissed out laughter. "I've already bewitched the conversation. You've agreed to help me, and you will, or you'll die now." She smirked, blinking in a mock fetching sort of way.

"And the third person you're bringing back?" Nicolas growled.

"Newt Scamander," said Cassandra matter of factly.

"So you're telling me… that Newt Scamander… Tom Riddle… and Draco Malfoy… are going to help some random child witch defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort?" said Nicolas disbelievingly.

"That is correct," said Cassandra with scathing dignity.

"Cassandra, were you on something when you decided this?" Perenelle asked delicately, and she sounded genuinely concerned. "Both of those men are still alive. Newt Scamander is married and retired in Dorset. Lord Voldemort is still at large."

"Thank you for stating the obvious, Perenelle," said Cassandra, helping herself at last to the wine and biscuits offered at the Flamels' table. "And I was not on anything unusual, no."

"So how are you going to do it?" Nicolas sighed, resigned. It was not the first time Cassandra had decided to screw everything up on behalf of an up and coming witch, but she was an old woman, and privately, he was genuinely worried.

"I need contact," she said intently, "with the girl. Or in this case… with her pregnant mother."

And so Cassandra Trelawney, under heavy magical disguise, shuffled along as an old beggar woman along a street of Godric's Hollow. The prophecy had been made; the trap had been set; now to play her part in it.

By the time Albus Dumbledore saw what had happened, it would be far too late.

She found Lily Potter laughing and chatting with Bathilda Bagshot on a quiet country road, her belly swelling. "Oh, having a baby!" Cassandra crowed, with a bright, stupid smile, shuffling over to the belly. "How lucky you are! Boy or girl?"

Lily Potter looked down at the stupid old beggar woman with sympathy in her eyes. "A girl," she said gently. "We're calling her Morelle Noire - Morelle for short."

"Black nightshade?" said Cassandra before she could stop herself, somewhat impressed. "Isn't that poisonous?"

Lily stared. "How do you -?"

Cassandra ducked her head and smiled sheepishly. "Used to be a botanist," she muttered. "May I bless your child?"

Bathilda looked wary, but Lily smiled, open. "Please do," she said kindly.

Cassandra murmured something and touched the stomach - sucking some of the prophecy magic out from the baby; God knew there was plenty to spare.

"Thank you," she cooed, nodding her head, and she shuffled away.

She got quickly behind a wall, took out the Time Turner, combined her own Seer's magic with the magic glowing inside the ever-brightening golden Time Turner… "I'm not going to spare any useless words," she murmured to the universe. "You know what I want, and you know I don't care what it costs me to get there."

There was a bright shoot of light and Cassandra Trelawney passed out cold on the ground.

Nicolas and Perenelle, also under disguise, ran from a nearby cafe to meet her.

"Did it work?" Perenelle whispered worriedly, bent over Cassandra.

"We don't know," said Nicolas shortly. "And we won't; I expect she won't tell us."

They quickly Apparated away with her. It would take two solid weeks of constant bed care before Cassandra Trelawney could walk again.

* * *

The world passed by, as if unchanged, not noticing.

It didn't notice when a pale, handsome, dark haired boy was born to dying Muggle parents and sent to a Muggle orphanage. His name was Thomas Harkiss, Tom for short, and he grew to be powerful, power hungry, and power curious, alien and unfeeling, cruel, and determined to be the best that there was. Never shown love himself, he never showed any to others - yet though he was aware of his own abilities, he was far too canny to be unduly arrogant.

It didn't notice when the Weasleys had two sons that year instead of one - Ronald, or Ron, and then his twin Newton, or Newt. Named, on an inspiration, after the famous magizoologist. Newt Weasley grew up to be a red-haired, freckled, skinny, awkward boy, kind and gentle but remote and obsessed with animals and magical creatures of all kinds. Often teased by his older brothers.

It barely took note when Draco Malfoy was born and raised the only son of the rich and infamous Malfoy clan. A platinum blond with silver eyes, translucent skin, and sharp, aristocratic features, he grew up to be arrogant, haughty, teasing, and playful, most unkind to those he felt were lower in society than he was - though not a cruel or evil boy by any means, and much more capable of open love than Tom Harkiss.

All three had somewhat obscure starts in life. They started as they had been originally as infants, full and complete, and grew from there.

But the entire world took notice when Morelle Potter was born.

A pretty young crimson-haired girl with hazel eyes, she took most in appearance after her mother. She spent her entire first year of life in hiding with her parents, before Lord Voldemort blasted down their door one evening, murdered her parents in front of her, and tried to kill her. Morelle Potter was left with a lightning bolt scar and a burning country cottage and Lord Voldemort disappeared.

Even as she became famous all across the wizarding world as The Girl Who Lived, she was sent to live with her mother's Muggle sister, Petunia Dursley. Dumbledore expected things to proceed normally from there, with Morelle living a dark childhood that would make her glad to escape it into the wizarding world.

He had forgotten two crucial factors that Cassandra alone had remembered.

First, she was a girl, and the Dursleys were traditionalists when it came to women. They'd also always wanted a daughter, but already had a son.

Second, Morelle looked like her mother - and though Petunia had hated her sister, she had also loved her.

Cassandra Trelawney watched through regular visions, not only as Newt, Tom, and Draco grew older - but more importantly, as Petunia Dursley grappled with raising Morelle Potter.

And that is where our story begins.

* * *

Author's Note: I watched _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._ Bad idea, as it turns out. My brain convulsed and vomited forth this.

The next several chapters will focus on Petunia raising Morelle. If I'm going to give a fem Harry a different childhood, I feel I need to go into detail on _how_ it's different. Draco, Tom, and Newt have childhoods that proceeded relatively similar to how they seem to have proceeded in canon.

Morelle is a whole different kettle of fish.

I was listening to Halsey's "Castle" when I wrote this, so if I had to give the story a theme song, that would be it. I also hadn't slept in 48 hours and was totally off my meds. Blame everything good or bad on that.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Petunia Dursley sat at her kitchen table, head in her hand. There were angry tears in her eyes, but they were unshed. She was calm, even dignified, if furious.

"He left me a _note_ ," she spat. "A fucking _note_." Petunia Dursley did not usually swear, but she felt if there was any time appropriate to swear, it was this one. "He didn't even have the decency to tell me in person that my sister was dead, forget asking me if I could handle adopting a second child."

"Forget compensation," Vernon rumbled in agreement, slowly swelling and purpling with rage. "I won't have it! It's absolute injustice! It's straight to an orphanage with this one, straight to -!"

"Vernon, I need _quiet_ ," Petunia snapped, and Vernon deflated, falling into silence. There was a long pause. Petunia looked into her infant niece's face. It was like being in the hospital again, holding her newborn baby sister in her arms. Morelle looked almost startlingly like Lily.

Besides, Petunia liked the name Morelle. It was unique, and Petunia approved of unusual names, one of the few imaginative quirks she allowed herself.

"We have to keep the child," she said at last, in a tone that brooked no argument. Vernon opened his mouth to protest, and Petunia added frigidly, "Or shall we deny a helpless orphan girl a place to live?"

Vernon's mouth closed again.

"Exactly. It's unconscionable. Besides, we can't have any more children and we always wanted a daughter. The child stays, Vernon," said Petunia firmly.

Vernon heaved himself to his feet. "I will not have a freak in my house!" he spat.

"Then isn't the solution obvious, Vernon?" Petunia raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "We don't tell her about magic. We teach her not to be a freak."

* * *

Petunia started out determined to hate Morelle. She really did. Morelle Noire Potter was an unwanted, leftover remnant of her hated freak of a sister.

Then she found out Morelle loved books.

Morelle adored hearing stories and being read to. She could listen to tales as long as Petunia would spin them. Petunia began to imagine raising a smart, obedient little girl with good grades.

That was how it started.

This just made it all the worse when it was found Dudley was hitting Morelle. He would leave bruises all over her arms and legs. Vernon sat down with his son and scolded him, saying, "We don't treat women like that. Never!"

Dudley threw a tantrum, but Vernon and Petunia refused to give him his way. They were determined to protect a quiet little girl who loved reading from the fists of any boy. That was the moment when Dudley lost his perfect place in the eyes of his parents.

Never again would he be treated as if he could do no wrong.

Petunia noticed Morelle's bruises heal magically on their own, but - and it was a mystery why, even to herself - she decided to say nothing.

Morelle was moved from the cupboard under the stairs and given an actual bedroom, once it was found she was bought too many books to fit into the cupboard under the stairs. She also started getting birthday celebrations every year on July thirty-first, so Petunia and Vernon had a chance to buy her new books. Encouraged, she soon learned how to read for herself even before school started, and could spend hours quietly reading.

Petunia's suspicions were confirmed. Her niece was quiet and smart.

Then it happened. Vernon walked into Morelle's bedroom one afternoon and found the pages of a book turning magically by themselves.

"NO!" he bellowed. "I'll have none of that in this house!"

He grabbed a crying toddler Morelle by the ear and pulled her to the cupboard under the stairs, locking her inside with the dark and the spiders without food. Morelle cried and banged on the cupboard door, but no one would let her out.

This was the first in a series of bizarre incidents that led to what would be called "cupboard punishments." Eventually, Morelle learned to stop crying - it wasn't like it did any good. She would sit there, sullen and silent and bored, in the cupboard, and strange visions would come to her - images of a bright flash of green light and a burning pain on her forehead where her lightning bolt scar was.

Morelle learned to value her own resilience - she became a calm and silent survivor. She also formed an ingrained hatred of hunger, and a fear of being trapped and put inside small spaces where she couldn't escape fearful things.

Petunia would unlock the cupboard before she went to bed, covertly, during punishments. Morelle would sneak out after everyone else had gone to bed and steal food from the kitchen.

* * *

Morelle didn't speak much as a young child. Petunia, worried for the second time, sent her to a child therapist.

"There's nothing wrong with her," the therapist said, after a few sessions with Morelle. "Her language is fine. She just doesn't like speaking. She is, however, highly creative. I believe it would be wise to find her creative outlets, where she could express herself in something other than words."

Petunia worried at the word _creative_. It smacked too much of magic.

So she and Vernon had to sit down and decide which creative outlets could be appropriate - which ones wouldn't encourage magic. Vernon insisted it could be nothing visual, so she didn't start "visualizing impossibilities and get funny ideas inside her head." No creative writing either, for the same reason - visualization, absurdity, funny wordplay. And he didn't approve of girls participating in sports.

At last, they decided cooking and gardening would be appropriate - they could double as chores, so she earned her keep, and Morelle seemed to love food and the outdoors in any case. (In this way, she was completely unlike Dudley, who spent far too much time inside on games and television.) Vernon said they were good "housewifely duties."

Petunia also recommended music - which, she pointed out, had nothing to do with visualization at all.

"She could learn classical music," Petunia pointed out.

So they started Morelle as well on lessons in the piano, voice, and violin. She was five years old when she began classes in gardening, classical music, and gourmet cooking.

Petunia soon started seeing oddities - oddities Vernon didn't see, being at work all day. The food would cook itself, the instruments would play themselves, the flowers grew and shrunk, opened and closed at Morelle's will.

She watched the flower blossoms open and close and was reminded - viscerally - of Lily.

Torn, she knelt down before Morelle one day and said with quiet urgency in the front flower garden, "Morelle, you must learn to hide these things from your uncle. Only do them in secret."

"You mean I'm really the one doing them?" Morelle blinked big hazel eyes up at her aunt.

Petunia stood, reserved. "You must learn to control yourself. If you simply must do these things, learn to do them in secret. You know how your uncle feels about the impossible."

She told herself she was helping to suppress Morelle's magic - not strengthening it.

But she did notice that cupboard punishments did not happen very often after that. Morelle couldn't have consciously learned how to control her own magic… could she?

But Morelle indeed had. Not only had she learned how to control her magic, she learned trickery - she taught herself how to fool her uncle into believing she hadn't done anything. She taught herself how to feint, how to stand perfectly still and strong and reserved as if she had done nothing wrong.

* * *

Morelle was a messy troublemaker from a young age, getting dirty outside a lot. This, Petunia despaired over.

"How are you already a mess? You were only out there five minutes," she would despair whenever Morelle came in from the back garden looking frightful.

Vernon, who would not stand for a messy and disobedient niece, insisted on female etiquette lessons. These, Morelle hated. She was never openly rebellious; instead, she simply refused to learn the material, rebelling in weird, passive aggressive ways.

Her uncle, always looking for ways to disapprove, shouted countless times to no avail. Morelle would scowl, standing there, silent, and then go on to do just what she wanted anyway.

Still, she did learn the necessary tools to look and sound good at dinner parties, so at least there was that.

Since she was taking etiquette lessons, Petunia thought some new outfits would do. She bought some nice but ugly ones first, and when Morelle glared and shrunk all of those to the size of a hand puppet, Petunia thought about telling Vernon and having Morelle punished. She really did.

Instead, she threw up her hands in defeat, sighed, and took Morelle shopping to let her choose her own nice clothes. Morelle had good taste in fashion, she had to admit, choosing lovely Autumn shades.

Dudley teased Morelle constantly about the etiquette lessons, in a brotherly sort of way. Morelle quietly envied Dudley, who didn't have to go to any lessons - all he had to do was act like a boy.

* * *

Morelle started school and good grades were expected of her from the beginning - another thing that could not be said for Dudley.

Petunia kneeled down to Morelle's level before she entered school on that first day.

"Don't tell Vernon I said this," she said, "but I want more for you than I have. I want you to do extraordinary things, things Vernon doesn't think women can do. Okay?" She learned forward and whispered, patting Morelle's clothes neat.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," said Morelle solemnly, deciding in that moment to be ambitious and learned, to learn as much as she possibly could and to strive for greatness.

She spent the rest of her childhood fighting the double standard of Dudley's poor grades being worth somehow more than her good ones, fighting the idea that the most ambitious thing she could become was a wife or a secretary.

* * *

Morelle proved herself naturally kind, though rather quiet and outdoorsy and sporty. She loved children, animals, and helping others. She made friends easily. Dudley, when he wasn't teasing her, used his massive girth to protect her and her friends from bullies.

His father would always be very proud of him whenever he came home after having gotten into a fight on behalf of his surrogate sister.

One day, however, Morelle came home with a question. "Why am I raised by my auntie and uncle? Where are my mummy and daddy? All the other kids have one. Why don't I?"

She looked up innocently at Petunia.

Petunia sighed and knelt down to Morelle's level. "Because they died," she said, "in the same incident that gave you that." She tapped the lightning bolt curse scar on Morelle's forehead.

"How did they die?" Morelle asked.

Petunia was silent for a long moment. "... Car crash," she said at last. "Just a plain old car crash." She stood. "Don't ask about it again," she added darkly.

Morelle ducked her head, curious despite herself. "... Yes, Aunt Petunia."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Morelle stood in the school music room, alone, long after everyone else had left. Her aunt praised her, and so did her uncle, in a rare show of approval - praised her for being so dedicated. She stayed silent during this praise. This was mistaken for humility.

No one knew what Morelle _really_ did when she was alone. It would get a lock into the cupboard and a threatened beating from her uncle.

She stood there, the piano and the violin playing by themselves, playing one of her own, originally written pieces. She sang softly along to it. This was her power, its manifestation in its highest form - she was doing this consciously. She barely ever had accidents anymore; it was all purposeful. She used it to make plants grow, to play music - to do the seemingly impossible.

As she had promised her Aunt Petunia, no one knew about it. Not her friends at school, not even Dudley, who knew almost everything about her.

For Morelle, artistry and magic (as she had termed this power) came instinctively. She had begun gaining dark romantic notions through the books she read, had imbibed aesthetic inclinations and irresistible temptations, through the books in the library her aunt and uncle never knew about. She had used that to begin writing music, and to inform her powers.

A survivor to the end, she knew her aunt and uncle - her uncle especially - hated imagination. So she kept her songwriting and her magic hidden.

But here, after everyone else left, her friends and teachers alike - she could play. Morelle was a reserved, dignified girl - kind but distant. No one was entirely sure about her, and Morelle was alright with that.

Being an odd person, an outsider, did not bother her the way it might others. She stayed true to herself.

* * *

Morelle saw green, hissing snakes fill her vision, and she woke up. She was in an unfamiliar bed. She rolled around, and then remembered - she and her family were on summer holiday in a country cottage.

Morelle was included in Dursley life - fun trips to the movies and amusement parks, dinner parties with Uncle Vernon's clients, and summer holidays to country cottages. Today was a holiday trip.

She got dressed - eggshell white skirt, dark peach sweater, strands of crimson hair tied back in a yellow gold barrette - and moved out into the cottage itself. "I'm going to go explore before breakfast," she said, backing away out the door. There was a forest out behind the cottage, and nature called to her.

"Don't get dirty," said Aunt Petunia suspiciously.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

"Be back by the time breakfast is ready or you're not getting any," her uncle rumbled, glaring at her through beady dark eyes. Dudley was working away at a video game, lost to the world, bored.

"Yes, sir," said Morelle quietly, ducking her head, and she flitted outside and into the dark portents of the forest. She wandered along dirt paths, thinking of bringing a book out here. There was some summer reading she'd wanted to do for her next year of school, and there was nothing better than curling up under a tree with a good book.

"A human… a human…"

She heard the whispering and stopped, looking around. "Hello?" she said in an unnaturally high voice.

"Down here." Morelle looked down - and saw a garden snake at her ankles. It was speaking to her.

Morelle knelt down, awed. "Can you understand me?"

The snake hissed with laughter. "More to the point," it said in amusement, " _you_ can understand _me_ , Snake Speaker."

"Snake Speaker," Morelle whispered, suddenly remembering - her dream.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm still going to cover "The Vanishing Glass" next chapter. I want to show the differences between Morelle's life and Harry's life. But obviously next chapter will be somewhat shorter than the canon chapter, as less has to be explained.


	4. Being Rewritten

This story and another fem Harry story of mine are being combined and rewritten. It's called _Petunia's Story_. Check it out on my author's page if you're interested.


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